


in the blink of an eye

by unrequitedexistence



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, berena - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:03:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8169328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequitedexistence/pseuds/unrequitedexistence
Summary: Sometimes the most complicated things can be said in the simplest words.





	1. I want you to come back

In the blink of an eye, then silence.

The pedal had felt soft under the foot clinging for its life and the one of the body leading it. A moment soon after would have been _too late_.

Utter commotion, then stillness.

Instinct had taken over the reins, trained not to hesitate or crumple under the pressure of hanging by a thread.

Her mind had been a thousand miles away, or perhaps _realities_ , building and rebuilding scenarios that had become so immersive, so _vivid_ , that they had, for a moment that could have been _the_ moment, supplanted the present – she had been going through them _too fast_.

Suddenly the unsteady hands that had pushed her away were the constraining seatbelt, forcefully keeping her in place, keeping her out of harm’s way, avoiding much more painful aftermaths. A bruise would certainly follow the encounter, but she knew for a fact that it would eventually fade, eventually become nothing but a memory of itself.

In less than twenty four hours Serena Campbell had been brought to two abrupt and unsolicited halts – and she was just beginning to understand how much she had needed them both.

 _I think the prospect of me leaving just put too much pressure on us to decide how we feel_.

A bitter laugh had threatened to abandon her by then closing throat. Feeling had never been a choice, let alone something she could decide upon. It was a matter of _acceptance_. It required time, perhaps even space, but it was not at all optional.

 _That’s what you don’t want. You need time and space to decide what you do want_.

On the side of the road, somewhere forgotten that she had always blindly trusted to lead her home, in an ignored _halfway_ , she allowed herself to go through the day that had her mistrusting the definition of nightmare – she had been awake, hadn’t she?

 _Ukraine_.

It was as if she had been steadily working on returning wholeness to a fragmented puzzle. She knew what it was supposed to look like, what she _wanted_ it to be, but she had yet to find the precise place for every single piece.

Their _quick bite after a long shift_ had seemed to be the light at the end of the tunnel, but it had rapidly vanished at the suggestion of foreign distance.

 _I can’t lose her_.

All of the sudden, in a frenzy that had overwhelmingly tasted of despair, everything had come tumbling down, growing out of proportion, losing sight and reference. She had reached out, impulsively, _desperately_ , seeking a touch of substance to hold on to…

The fall had been… _mighty_.

 _I know I don’t want to hurt you because I care about you_.

The world spoke of _hitting rock bottom_ as if it was a bad thing, but Serena Campbell believed it to be _welcoming_ , a change of perspective waiting to be _embraced_ , a chance at rediscovering the foundations upon which she stood.

She could _see_ it now. She had, in no particular order, thrown the pieces of the puzzle in the hope they would fall in place with Bernie. The other woman was not an edge though, not a corner or a frame. She was a glorious middle of an ever-changing constellation trying to make sense of the astoundingly immense collection of dots that gave her shape.

If the impending leave hadn’t been brought to the table, would she have professed her undeniable devotion?

 _They_ would have gone to dinner instead, bringing the light closer, one step, one _piece_ , at a time.

 _I want you to come back_.

The blinking cursor had tempted her with promises of eternity, but those six words were all she had, all that mattered.

The message was sent.


	2. I want to come back

In the blink of an eye, then desert.

Pristine white surroundings tainted by a sand colored past. A stillborn beginning slipping through trembling hands that broke under the pressure, the _fear_ , of the weight of holding _together_.

The high contrast had been unexpected, trauma presumed to blend layers supposed to belong to the same _self_ composition. Before and after, again mismatched, _incompatible_ beyond words at this time elevated to a higher plane of meaning.

Berenice Wolfe sat on the edge of the mattress, a rucksack from a lifetime ago by her side. She had estimated the process of packing to distract her wandering mind for _much_ longer.

She had always looked forward to this moment, but this time around she felt… _heavier_ , as if she had collected a whole universe that would require _choosing_ , to leave something behind in order to carry something else close.

She had anticipated an actual challenge, but she had quickly come to realize that what she had collected, what she had _gained_ , was the kind of _everything_ that one carried under one’s skin, not inside a bag.

 _I think the prospect of me leaving just put too much pressure on us to decide how we feel_.

Her hands, resting on either side of her hips, gripped the mattress in search of some stability. The texture of the sheets felt harsh under her fingertips, the fabric still _too_ new, holding no memories of comfort or tenderness – even the overwhelming scent of the softener seemed not able to break the barrier that would eventually lead them to feel _lived_ , to feel of _home_.

Her walls were bare, there were no curtains. The blinds were kept down otherwise the light would be _too much_ and the nude landscape would be blinding, both to the eyes and to the soul. The darkness was a permanent resident, the warmness offered by the few light bulbs a guest flavored of distant family – both comforting and vaguely upsetting. 

She had a table and two chairs, one having yet to be sat on. It was supposed to happen tonight. _The grand debut_. It was meant for _her_ , for Serena.

She allowed herself to fall back as she let out a breath, wincing as her spine complained at the bold move. Even the mattress had yet to learn her shape.

 _That’s what you don’t want. You need time and space to decide what you do want_.

A similar statement had been thrown in her direction once before. She had felt the wind getting knocked out of her, but she had known Alex to be, without a shadow of a doubt, _right_ – even if she was only now beginning to comprehend the full extent of the other woman’s words.

Bernie had always been _on the way_ – to do something, to go somewhere, to meet _someone_. She had never just _been_. A moment had always been the perpetuation of the next, never quite enough in its singularity, never acknowledged as such, as _one_. The ephemeral had been to her comfort, _freedom_. The _old independence_ she had placed upon the unlit cigarette had been not her own, instead belonging to the _fleeting_ , to the second wishing to follow. The eye of the storm was the safest place to be, but she had always preferred to ride the unpredictable wind.

Until _now_.

She hadn’t meant to settle down, it had _happened_. To be fair, she had only become aware of it, _painfully_ so, at the sound of _love_ coming from the lips she had been craving _for weeks_. She had instantly seen the roots spreading and tangling themselves in the most intricate and delicious way… then growing into endless knots soon lifeless, asphyxiated under the tight rein of expectations.  

It had been impossible for her to ignore just how much she _wanted_ Serena. Their _undeniable sexual chemistry_ was truly, sometimes _agonizingly_ so, palpable. She could live with that, she had been effectively living with the situation, understanding adrenalin to be the foundation of desire. Oh, but at the utterance of _love_ … she had felt a _need_ that had shaken her to the very core – and then _fear._

Losing Serena became a nightmare louder than the bombs that fell around her on the nights insomnia decided to play chess with her imagination instead of guessing who would blink first. Her chest had tightened, her throat had started to close under the pressure and soon enough she had found herself letting out a breath shaped of _yes_.

 _Love_.

It was a word she had grown used to reading at the end of letters that smelled of timeless goodbyes. It was a word usually followed by a _but_ that led to a door that only opened from the inside.

 _Love_.

Something you murmured when you knew someone was dying. Something you held on to. Something that tasted of ashes…

 _I know I don’t want to hurt you because I care about you_.

Serena was warm. Better yet, she was _warmth_. She was open, she carried her heart on her sleeve and that frightened the life out of Bernie. She could see through the other woman and she had caught glimpses of the _Promised Land_ that she had been taught to be nothing but a utopia. They had fought, argued, disagreed… and yet they had always found their way back to one another.

Bernie had tested all of Serena’s limits. She had lied, both at a personal and professional level, and Serena had remained by her side, leaning against her for support, trusting her, putting her life on broken hands through which so much happiness had already dissipated, as if sand. And now she had left, had run…

 _Coward_.

She wanted to be better, she _wanted_ to be the person Serena saw in her, but she was afraid the role wouldn’t suit her, that she wouldn’t be able to carry it to the end and earn the standing ovation the other woman was worthy of. She had already destroyed too many good things, broken too many good people… She couldn’t, she _wouldn’t_ , do the same to her.

Her phone vibrated and she instinctively reached for it, holding her breath as she read Serena’s name.

 _I want you to come back_.

Bernie had seen the look on Serena’s face, Serena who seemed to have forgotten where she was, overwhelmed by an adoration that had Bernie trembling. She had _chosen_ her, chosen her for the world to witness, the rumor mill disregarded as ancient history from an unreasonable alternative reality. She had seen the look on her face, she had _felt_ it, and now here she was, already one step ahead, _as per usual_ , offering time and space, _offering to wait_.

Bernie needed to put things into perspective. She _needed_ to leave so that she could come back not as Major Berenice Wolfe, not as Marcus’s ex-wife or Alex’s ex-lover, but as Berenice Griselda Wolfe, whoever that was. It was time to find the eye of the storm and face the music.

Serena Campbell didn’t fall in love with just about anyone. Bernie needed, _wanted_ , to find that woman within herself. She wanted to find her skin, with her flaws, perks and scars, and fall in love with every inch of it before devoting it to her.

 _I want to come back_.

For the first time in her life Berenice Griselda Wolfe would be leaving already looking forward to coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am drowning in feelings. Writing Bernie will be the end of me.

**Author's Note:**

> I am starting to feel a little bit Titanic _ish_ \- but fear not, if the iceberg does come, Ames78 will take over all my unfinished stories.


End file.
